Wendy Leigh

I think this book should be renamed David Bowie's Penis: Where It's Been, What People Think of It, and How It Was Used, a Biography with Bonus Mini-Biography of Iman. The author clearly has zero interest in David Bowie beyond his cocaine-fueled sexcapades era in the 70s and early 80s, and you can tell by the sheer weight of the text focused on this versus the rest of his life. My copy of this book (thankfully from the library, so my wallet does not bemoan my poor judgement as much as my time show more does) has 271 pages. On page 229, Bowie meets Iman and the next 50 pages are dedicated to that relationship peppered with brief mentions of Bowie's professional, artistic, and/or intellectual accomplishments in the 24 years between the Sound Vision tour, during which he met Iman, and the publication of this book. There are constant mentions in both the narrative and quoted material about how intelligent Bowie was, and yet what we get is a vapid blow-by-blow of how well hung he was, who he was fucking, and how he manipulated people with his giant junk despite how he was "the epitome of the English gentleman." Wendy Leigh drags us through all the different name changes of Bowie's first born Zowie/Joey/Joe/Duncan, but somehow makes the rather shocking error of referring to Ziggy Stardust's successor as "Aladdin Insane," indicating (to me at least) that the woman has very likely completely missed the point of just about any and everything Bowie has done with that tiny two-letter screw up. All of this is on top of the whiplash of the narrative bouncing back and forth, sometimes months at a time, sometimes decades, to where you really need to already have a fairly good handle on the general timeline of Bowie's career to understand what she's getting at. So, ultimately, Wendy Leigh has managed to take a man who has straddled the music, fashion, film, and literary industries along with being a critical part of the discourse on sexuality in the Western world and whittled him down to simply *who* he straddled. If you want any real insight into Bowie the person, look elsewhere, but if you're looking for a Groupie's Guide to David Bowie, then this is totally the book. show less

Hmm. Not sure about this one. A brilliant marketing ploy, obviously - well, I was hooked in! - but the central premise doesn't really hold up to close scrutiny. If Wendy Leigh's book started life as a creative writing exercise, then great - the bibliography at the end suggests she at least skimmed a load of biographies about both women, even if the titles are mostly of the 'Five Minutes in a Lift: The True Story of X, by an Intimate Friend' variety - and her 'Jackie' and 'Marilyn' narrative show more voices are very distinct.

Conversely, I couldn't concentrate throughout much of the book because my brain was screaming 'THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN!' I mean, obviously the letters, Jackie's 'purple diary' and Marilyn's taped conversations with her shrink are all fake, but even the idea that Jackie would unburden her shrewd and scarily accurate thoughts and fears about her husband's philandering to a 'pen pal' is patently ridiculous. The most consistent detail I have garnered from reading about Jackie is how private and reserved she was, especially when Jack was alive. All the pseudo-psycho babble about father figures and mother envy, or whatever, might be true, but I very much doubt she would sit there and analyse herself for posterity. The only part of Leigh's rendering of Jackie I believed was Jackie's thirst for gossip. Marilyn I accepted more easily, because I know next to nothing about her, but again, the crude stories and psychoanalysis seemed a bit forced.

So. If you want to read the annotated versions of a bunch of biographies about Jackie Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, and you're not particularly fussy about the sources, Secret Letters is a rollicking, scandalous introduction to both women (with a seemingly never ending list of said biographies to follow up). On the other hand, if you view Jackie and Marilyn as two complex, clever and real women from very different backgrounds, Wendy Leigh's novel will probably drive you mad too. show less

I almost gave up on this a couple of times. I should have. It was not a biography. It was a list of Bowie's sexual partners. You want to read the book? Okay:

1 - Bowie was gay
2 - Bowie was bisexual
3 - Bowie was well-hung
4 - Bowie was amazing in bed
5 - Bowie was just okay in bed
6 - Bowie had lots of straight sex
7 - Bowie had lots of gay sex
8 - Bowie had lots of sex
9 - Bowie did drugs
10 - Bowie did some other stuff, too
11 - Oh yeah, and he made some albums and movies

There. You've read the show more book.

Seriously. When I read a biography, I'm looking for insight into the person. How their life influenced their creativity. What sparked certain songs. Where they were emotionally or mentally or spiritually when they created this album.

You get none of that here. Just a boring, rote recitation of name after name after name. Any situation described ultimately is only included so the author can indicate if Bowie fucked the others in the situation, or the others lusted after Bowie, or whatever.

What a steaming pile of shit this was. Don't read. show less

I'll put it this way: if you're hoping to find out which guitar Carlos Alomar is playing on which album, this is not the book for you. If, on the other hand, you want to know when, where, and if Bowie bonked Bianca, it may be right up your alley. In fact Bowie's own member gets a lot more words than any band member. Not to say that Bowie's private life and private parts aren't interesting reading material, and the author does a reasonably good job of combing various sources to try and sort show more fact from fiction--this, of course, being an impossible job in Bowie's case. It's lurid tabloid stuff and not a bad read if you're taking a plane across the water or going cross country on a bus or train. But if you're a young musician hoping to learn recording secrets shared by Eno and Bowie, forget it. There's plenty of other thin white duke material out there over which to pour. show less